Thesis Baby

Thesis baby (noun): Any child born within a year of one's thesis defense - generally after.

I defended my thesis when 35 weeks pregnant with my own thesis baby.  Successfully, even.   (I did bike to work that summer and removed the baby-related chub.)

(I have completely forgotten what my point was.  Maybe: Thesis Baby!  Everyone should have one!  If you want and you can and so on.  Plus, it's an excellent excuse for My Defense Must Happen By This Date So Help Me God.  Also effective: lease expiring, spouse leaving town, parent who is ill, or a general extremely-cheesed-off-at-grad school feeling.)

I Didn't Kill The Damn Albatross, So Take It Back Now

This paper hanging around my neck:

It's not so much that I mind revising it (though I do), or that I don't care (though I don't). It's not even really the principle of the thing, though if you'd quit working for a company 11 months ago, would you still be working for them? (No. No, you would not.)

It's what it makes me remember.

It takes me right back to 6.5 very difficult years. Being told in public that I was incompetent. Knowing that, if ever I let my guard down, my colleagues and co-workers would jump on me like jackals. Sitting alone in lab, late at night, crying over an impossible experiment that I had to do to graduate. Knowing that whatever I did, my advisor's response would be, 'You need to work harder.'

Standing in a parking lot at 1 AM waiting for a bus that never came.

Walking home at night, alone, terrified that I would be set on by people with guns.

Laying in bed on a cold winter morning, too sick and too depressed to even get up.

Coming home every day for three years, and sitting on the couch and crying, unsure if I could do it for one more day.

Being done doesn't erase the memories. And so I want to never think of it again. That's what I mind.

They Can't Take That Away From Me

Shoot Me Now

Email from committee member who had no comments of his own: "Your responses to Dr. Conflict Of Interest aren't good enough. You'll need to revise it again and write us a new letter. I'm meeting with your advisor today. You suck."

Aaaaaaaagh

Email from the grad school:Send your revised thesis back to the readers so they can evaluate it again. You know what would have been nice? Being informed of any of this stuff in ADVANCE. Having guidelines. Or revising the correct version of my thesis.

This is part of why I left lab science- or at least academia- for the world of industry. At least in industry, people mostly tell me what I need to do, how, and under what conditions. Nobody tries to belittle my intelligence or get revenge on my work out of jealousy or ambition. And I'm not expected to work 70 hours a week or else I must not be committed.

For sure there are places in industry that are like that. I don't work at one.

I'm beginning to be frustrated at my inability to get anything done: even dishes are a challenge (though I can manage 'turn on dishwasher'). Of course, the fact that I'm holding a baby 20 hours a day has something to do with it, as does the fact that I get about 90 minutes a day where I can use both hands- mainly in 10-minute intervals. I can't tell if the anxiety and overwhelmed feelings are incipient PPD, or grad-school-made-me-miserable flashbacks. Or both, plus sleep deprivation.

Irony

My (highly annoying thesis) went through about 5 rounds of revisions.

The spouse and I revised Version 4 by accident. And then Fedexed it to the grad school.

The permanent-archives version still contains 10 typographical errors, one egregious factual error, and three incorrect references- and is missing two lines. Also, about 30 sentences are missing periods after the citation. Good thing nobody ever reads the print copies of science theses.

Oops.

Spirit Writing

I have now revised my !@#$!! thesis. By which I mean, I sat and nursed the Pumpkin, while the spouse took dictation. ("The reader wants me to what? Fine. Write 'Group X reports that they did That Thing. In our hands, we obtained a completely different result. I have no bloody idea why.' Next comment." "I don't care, just delete the entire paragraph; there, there's nothing to complain about now!" "No, I'm leaving that in so that no other poor sod tries to do the experiment. Of course it didn't work, that's the POINT." "People in HELL want ICE WATER. We're done.")

Thank heavens the grad school doesn't really, you know, check.

One-Handed Makes It Harder

Thesis! I had one of those.

Snooty U requires two readers in one's department and an outside reader.

My two departmental readers checked off the 'pass' box and signed the damn form.

My advisor wanted a former-postdoc-now-faculty from our lab to be the outside reader. I didn't, because:

1) it's supposed to be someone unconnected to the thesis, not someone who trained me
and
2) Dr. Former tried to steal my project and now is getting scooped and I didn't think would be especially happy about it.

Dr. Former wrote three pages trashing my thesis- okay, some of it's fair, but part is malicious, and a quarter is wrong (inaccurate citation of someone else's results, and no, that's not what it meant, either!) but... at least checked the 'pass' box too.

I have until Monday to make the changes and resubmit the whole damn thing. The baby is nursing continuously and wailing in between, and I no longer have access to the S.U. library, so cannot read articles. The fun never stops.

35 Weeks and Doctoral

With a minimum of difficulty- mainly relating to the power going out 15 minutes before my talk- I have successfully defended a thesis. I have three weeks to turn in some extremely minor thesis revisions. I almost can't believe I actually made it. The power of determination and desperation! And being 35 weeks pregnant.


Behold my latest sewing effort. I am frickin' huge, and have gained about 35 pounds- all directly on my front- and I don't care. Baby wants a SNACK.

I'll bike to work this summer. Honest.

Fully Thesulated

I have readers! And a presentation! And I finished the last !@#$$!!!! figure for the !#$!! paper.

However, mysteriously, I cannot find a picture of my mother to put in.

Five more days.

Not Emotional AT ALL

I have just burst into tears, swearing at the computer, because ImageJ will not cut out pieces of my pictures as it should. And then snarked at Dr. S.

Third trimester! Now with more fun!

Hormones? What hormones?

Not Enough To Do

My committee has now been sent The World's Shortest Thesis (74 pages, including tables, references, and the title page). I wish them joy of it. Actually, I wish they wouldn't bother to read it. Here's hoping.

Alas, my very conscientious advisor is sure to return a boatload of comments. However, as the grad school drop-dead deadline is in four short weeks, perhaps I can survive until then.

I think I forgot to eat dinner.

Deep Breath; Lather, Rinse, Repeat

Nineteen emails later, my committee and I have a date! Three cheers for technology.

I have until Monday to rewrite my thesis. Oh, the fun; it never stops.

On a different but related subject, my hands have swelled up a tiny tiny bit- just enough that I can get my wedding ring on, but not off. Also Pumpkin keeps getting the hiccups, and then getting angry. Whomp!

Now With More Aaaagh

I have written a thesis.

I have written a paper.

I have sent both items to my advisor. Four weeks ago.

I have revised the paper four times with my advisor.

I have convinced the chair of my committee and my advisor that I am ready to schedule a thesis defense.

I have contacted my committee and, miraculously, found a day and time when all five (5!) of them can be present. This day is in 15 days from now.

In response, my advisor asks, "How will you get your thesis to your committee in time?"

Well, gee. I was thinking I'd email the whole fucking assortment to them on Monday. Oh, advisor didn't bloody well bother to read it yet? TOO BAD.

In Which I Am Narrowly Averted From Homicide

The chair of my committee, with whom I am required to clear thesis scheduling, has a defect in the email-responding portion of his brain. I have been waiting a week to hear from him. I appreciate that becoming pregnant was my choice and so on, but they are much more accommodating if, say, one must leave town by a certain date. I am nearly ready to take Belle up on her offer to hunt down his office and apply violence.

However! I re-sent my aggressive scheduling email ("Schedule my thesis defense or I will scream my HEAD off; I am bloody well done, done done DONE, also do you want to read my boring thesis?"), I sent a copy to my former boss. He replied, "Let me know if you don't hear back and I will track him down."

Hallelujah.

Of course, he also asked if I had a newer version of my thesis to send him...

...ah, no. I have four pounds of baby kicking me and a full-time job, is what I have.

Pumpkin-shaped and Thesular

30 weeks: and way more impressive from the side. This is the only garment I have that I still actually like. Pregnancy clothes have nothing to recommend them.


(Please ignore where I spilled water down my dress.)

Am trying not to have paranoid fears about weight gain, which mainly make me unhappy, because it's not like I'm going to stop eating, is it now?

Thesis defense is being scheduled for late February (oops... January already happened) . Hurrah! Hurrah! This is made unwontedly complicated by my thesis committee chair's desire to, perhaps, have another meeting- with my thesis, but necessarily without me - or perhaps with my paper manuscript, but without me- before... scheduling a defense? Before me defending? On the grounds that it is, and I quote, "what we always do." Except, you see, the thesis and the paper aren't quite done. They will be in two weeks. And I need to buy a plane ticket NOW NOW NOW. Must try to call Monday.

I also had a thrilling interchange with a) my advisor; b) the department's Controller Of All Things Graduate and c) via (b), with the department's Faculty Controller Of All Things Graduate. The conclusion was that 1: the department has no guidelines on paper submission before or after defending and 2: as a result, your committee can screw you over whichever way they please. Lovely.

Like most of grad school, it didn't have to be this hard.

In Which I Learn To Sail A Bicycle

The company for which I work makes, let's say, bicycles. They hire many bicycle mechanics, mechanical engineers, and professional bicycle riders. The astute among you will note that this has nothing to do with bricks or the building trades in general. Therefore, I am being trained.

The first week was devoted to preliminaries. "These are the parts of a bicycle!" they said brightly. They showed videos of people riding bicycles, making bicycles, and competing in bicycle sports. There were sessions on where to buy a bicycle, where to find information about parts, and who to call should one's work-issued bicycle suddenly fall apart.

The second week, they sat me on a bicycle with two large wings attached to the frame, handed me a manual that began "Insert Wing A into Gearset B", and threw me into a very large lake. "Sail across! You have three weeks!" they said brightly.

Those persons who had worked on bikes before set their wings to a complicated paddle/ sail configuration, and are now halfway across the lake doing curlicues. My week was more like this:

Day 1: Begin to sink. Paddle with hands. Sink anyways. Read rapidly through manual. Understand one word in three.

Day 2: Convince wings to do a doggy-paddle. Half of co-workers have now made their bikes sail. Wonder why wings have frills on edges, and how to remove. Not in manual.

Day 3: Paddle frantically. Flip through manual. Sink to bottom of lake. Come home and cry for an hour. Consider career change.

Day 4: Get to work at 7 AM. Re-read manual. Re-attach wings eighteen times. Nearly sink to floor weeping. Very nice co-worker comes along, shows how to attach wings properly, then demonstrates backstroke. Make it a good 200 feet across lake. Consider kissing co-worker from enormous near-tears gratitude, but instead offer to bake cookies as otherwise, might frighten the nice man.

Day 5: Now only a full day behind everyone else! Wave feebly to instructor. Try to catch up.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

Did I mention the part where I've been getting up at 6 every morning to finish writing my paper and thesis? Or the part where, despite my having completed all the requirements for graduation, my ex-boss will not let me set a defense date?

Or the part where I'm trying to decide whether to stick that fork in my eye or his?

Survived, With Eyes Intact

I have survived my first day at work. For obvious reasons, I don't plan to write about it in detail, but suffice it to say that the first week of my training regimen already makes me want to poke my own eyes out from boredom. Today mainly consisted of things that either a) I already knew or b) could have been summarized in five minutes and a two-page bulleted list.

My co-workers - the ones I'll actually be working with - seem to be nice, normal, smart people who also are dying of boredom. (One today: "You could always clutch your stomach and rush out." Me: "I'm saving it for when I'm really bored." Co-worker: "You mean... you aren't yet???")

Also, I get an office, though I have to share for a little while. I plan to refer to everyone's offices as 'nerd boxes.'

And that is all I will say about work.

Must! Write! Rest of thesis! Aaaaagh!

In Which I Am Greatly Relieved

I was about to write an angst-filled post about My !@#$ Collaborator, Dammit, I'm Due In 12 Fricking Weeks. However! He has just sent me fifty bazillion gigabytes of files to analyze. Praise the Flying Spaghetti Monster. I will now be staring at boring videos of cells until cross-eyed.

My brain feels a little fried. It's been a couple months since I looked at, much less thought about, my paper/ results/ figures. Plus, I'm real pregnant and therefore a little fuzzy-brained and tired all the time. Maybe... I'll give it a go tomorrow. With lots of coffee. And maybe getting up earlier. And maybe without eight hours of travel the day before.

My new job starts in seven days; I guess my last week of freedom will be spent staring at a computer screen instead of sewing diaper covers. Can I defend before I deliver? Stay tuned!

(Also: the baby seems to be trying to get out. It does this every morning. It's aliiiive!!)

Dispatches from the Uterus

I have met with my boss and informed him that the Uterine Deadline is February 28, after which I am under no circumstances willing or able to travel 1100 miles to defend my !@#$! thesis. And that putting together a paper, a thesis and a defense while caring for a small infant is doomed to tears and failure. So could we please hurry it along and where the bloody hell is my collaborator's !@#$% data? Thank you.

My brother-in-law Army Green (Dr. S's brother) is, as you may recall, intending to marry a Chinese women whom he has met exactly twice. She finally has a visa interview. If it takes her N months to wrap up her affairs in China, and M months, once here, to execute a wedding, where M<3 by government fiat, will N+M+November fall within two weeks of the baby's due date? Magic 8 ball says 'chances look good'. Ergh.

We (by which I mean I) have decided that the beanlet is henceforth Pumpkin. They come in various sizes, they're orange, and they taste good. What more could a girl want?

We've finally picked names. [Boy name] bears no resemblance to our dead relatives, who were all named unfortunate things like Maurice and Alger or Wilbur. (If this is your name, I apologize; they are not among our personal favorites.) [Girl name] is hotly contested between myself and my middle sister; the one with the first girl gets the name, which is a lovely flower name belonging to our late great-grandmother. Middle name is for Dr. S's very elderly grandmother, on the grounds that she'd enjoy a namesake more while she's still alive to, you know, enjoy it.

Pumpkin would like to add: Thump, thump thump, wiggle wiggle, THUMP (oof), thump.